


Hellbound

by ShaaraSeeker



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Bondage, D/s, Dubious Consent, First Time, M/M, Sticky, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-01
Updated: 2012-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-31 22:58:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/349281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShaaraSeeker/pseuds/ShaaraSeeker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A TFAnon Kinkmeme fill. Silverbolt's first time... poor mech is a confused one, that's for sure...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hellbound

Silverbolt had been peacefully flying, at low altitude of course, when the blast hit him. Skyfire had been just ahead; they were going to visit the Grand Canyon again, because Skyfire wanted to study the rock formations again. Silverbolt had agreed; he'd never seen it, having just been created not that long ago, and his brothers were on the verge of driving him crazy.

Looking up at the very wide expanse of sky (and the large expanse of Sky in front of him), he never saw it coming. A large blast of air hit him, fouling his wings and sending him into a devastating spin that he just did not know how to get out of.

//Skyfire! I caught myself in a weird tornado...// he commed desperately, fear overwhelming his sensornet.

//That isn't a tornado, Silverbolt.// the calm voice on the other end of the comm assured him. //It's the Stunticons. Specifically, Motormaster. I see him on the ground-// The comm shorted out, and Silverbolt began to panic.

Motormaster....that mech had tried to offline him more than once in Silverbolt's short life, and here he was about to hit the ground in a crumpled heap....

Oh, slag.... was his last thought before crashing.

 

Silverbolt onlined to a suffusing pain all over his body, and a queer ache in his limbs that couldn't be explained away by the crash. He couldn't see. That caused a shiver of terror to wrack his form, and that's when he noticed that parts of him couldn't move...

Motormaster grinned. He had him the Aerialbot commander, and he was completely helpless. Motormaster didn't often get the chance to do this; he'd discovered that he had a liking for binding his interface partners within days of his onlining. His team already feared it, and him; Wildrider had hidden his special ropes more than once, and the others scattered when he got that look in his optics. In his short life, he'd taken the time to study various techniques, even the human styles, and was perfecting it to an art form. He'd wanted the arrogant Autobot Air Commander since he'd seen him, moments after he came online, and now he had what he wanted spread out on his special table. Several lengths of specially reinforced rope lay on a rack nearby, and several other items waited there as well. 

While Silverbolt had been unconscious from the crash, Motormaster had begun the complex binding process. Silverbolt's arms were tight behind his back, wrapped in a series of ropes that covered them from mid-bicep to wrist. This was tied with a knot designed to get tighter if its occupant moved, and Motormaster actually hoped that he did. This was attached to rope around the Aerial's neck, which did little to a Cybertronian, but pit if it didn't look hot in combination with the other ropes. He'd chosen pale blue bindings, to match Silverbolt's optics, which would matter once he removed the eye covering right before he took his prize.

“Let me go.” Silverbolt's voice was unsure, slightly soft- he couldn't see, had no idea who had him here, and he couldn't move his arms and something was trying to choke him, and he felt dizzy and sick and he hurt... “Just let me go. I don't like this.”

“I don't care if you like it or not.” The voice was unmistakable. Strong hands grasped the bindings around his arms and pulled slightly, tightening them around his wrists to the edge of pain. “You're mine now.” Motormaster grabbed another set of ropes- these light gold, like his captive's beautiful thighs- and began preparing them for the next step, the one that would have him squirming for release quite against his will just because of the placement of the bindings. He manually forces open Silverbolt's interface paneling over his valve, and Silverbolt squeaks.

“What the pit are you doing?” The question was genuine- Silverbolt really had no clue what the mech was doing, he'd never quite gotten around to exploring what lay under that bit of metal outside of washing it. His adult programming said something about interface, but Silverbolt didn't quite get what it meant, in this context. Motormaster refused to answer his question, wrapping the jet in a complicated pattern, two wraps around his hips in a slight diagonal pattern, with complicated knots at each hip, and a single wide rope right between Silverbolt's legs, with a knot specifically placed at the anterior node of Silverbolt's interface array. Motormaster's arousal poured off him in nearly palpable waves- the binding itself is what was more important, the restraint, the mech beneath him realizing just how powerless he was against the King of the Road's skills, be it in ropework, battle, or straight up interface. Motormaster's panel opened, finally, and his spike sprang free, twitching at the cooler air of the room, and also at the sight of the Aerial on the table.

Silverbolt's field froze up on itself for a brief moment- whatever that was down there felt sort of good, but in a bad way. He tried to struggle, but it only tightened the bond on his arms..and caused the knot to brush up against the sensor cluster in such a way as to make him gasp despite himself. “Motormaster, I don't know what you're doing, but I don't want to be tied up here.” He tried to activate his electrostatic battery and found that his access to it was disabled somehow. Not good, he thought. Not good at all. 

Motormaster didn't answer this with anything more than more bindings. Silverish ones, this time, to match his prey's legs. He mechhandled Silverbolt's right leg into a bent position, foot almost flat against his thigh, before binding it tightly with the cord, attaching the knots from it to the ones around Silverbolt's wrists. He repeated the process with the left leg, and used another cord to stretch up to the neck-cord, spreading Silverbolt wide open, and if he tried to move, his main energon line would be constricted in his neck. Which wasn't life-threatening, but could be painful and unpleasant in the extreme.

Silverbolt tried to struggle at first. This was not good, he was quickly becoming afraid and wanted his team nearby. The gestalt bond was not blocked, and he sent a swift plea for assistance, only to be answered with Where the frag are you anyway? Something was blocking his locator, but not the bond. Never the bond. This thought kept him from completely losing it as Motormaster began doing...things to him. Things that felt good, but he didn't quite understand, not at first. The rope between his thighs had a knot on it, a knot that just happened to be positioned directly over an outer sensory cluster. Every time Silverbolt squirmed- and he did, because of the unfamiliar feel of slick ropes and tight knotwork on his frame- it rubbed right against that area and sent...peculiar feelings through him. Feelings that made him twist a little bit more, just to see. Just to check on how it felt. 

That made the fact that his locator was malfunctioning recede in his processor. A soft gasp fell from his lips as he moved particularly harshly across the thick knot and the corresponding rope that brushed the rim of his port. 

“Enjoying yourself, little Silver?” The tone was low, a growl almost, but its had a salacious overtone that made Silverbolt narrow his optics behind the cloth covering. This was his enemy; he wasn't supposed to be...supposed to be doing whatever it was that he was doing! Motormaster eyed his little prize thoughtfully; the masterpiece was nearly complete, nearly ready. He grabbed the finishing touch, a set of small silver chains, four in total, with tiny little clamps on either end. He attached them in a webwork pattern to Silverbolt's wings, digging the clamps in to anchor them securely. The design was a lattice, and the silvery decorations pulled at the plating on Silverbolt's wings, drawing them slightly toward each other. Motormaster tested the strength of them with a single finger, dragging it down the lattice with firm pressure. He expected the jet to cry out in pain. 

He was only half right.

Silverbolt didn't know what to do. The clamps dug into that sensitive area, but....the hurt wasn't LIKE the hurt you got when you bashed your wing into a doorjamb or crashlanded or something stupid like that. It felt good, amazingly good, and Silverbolt noticed then that his port was growing almost uncomfortably wet. He wiggled his hips to try and relieve the pressure, but the knot dug into his sensors again, and then Motormaster dragged on those new chains...

He cried out, not really knowing why...and not really caring, either. 

Motormaster's optics brightened. Now this was unexpected. A new development, you could say. He'd not yet had a partner that...enjoyed this, and frankly, he thought he'd preferred it that way. Watching Silverbolt writhe on the table as best he could through the bindings was distracting, to say the least. His spike was so hard he thought that he'd break it if he rubbed it against anything, so he decided to wait a moment.

“What are you doing to me?” The question was soft, the tone shaky. Silverbolt couldn't even look toward his captor, but he looked in the direction he thought Motormaster was anyway.

“Taking what's mine, Silverbolt.” With that, Motormaster slid a single finger into Silverbolt's port...and hit the jet's seal, still fully intact. Motormaster cursed. He'd taken all four of his brothers' seals, and he knew that afterward, they all cried and whined and complained about how much it hurt. 

“Oh. OH. M-motormaster...I...I...never...” Silverbolt couldn't speak, and he really didn't really know how to express what he was thinking at that moment. Suddenly, the interface protocols made a lot more sense. The intrusion hadn't hurt, though...it was only a finger, and he moved back against the table, causing the latticework of chains to pull and drag at his wings some more. An involuntary cry escaped his lips, and Motormaster's burning optics drank it all in as if it were the finest high grade. That finger became two, and he thrust forward ruthlessly, obliterating the thin silicon seal with thick, hot fingertips that didn't slow or stop for even a second.

“Oh PRIMUS.” Silverbolt keened, the pain washing over his sensornet and turning into a root-deep ache between his legs to be filled, slammed, and filled some more. Feelings he didn't even know he had bubbled up. And he moved as best he could, constricting the rope about his neck and moaning helplessly, because he didn't know what else to do. One word made it through. “...harder...”

Motormaster growled loudly; this was not helping his spike any- he was half-convinced that he was going to overload all over the jet, and frankly that didn't sound like a horrible idea. “Wrong name.” he snarled, slamming in a third finger as hard and fast as his arm could move it. He swung himself up on the reinforced table, kneeling between those spread yellow thighs, and stroked himself as roughly as he was fingering the pleasure-addled jet beneath him.

“Motormaster!” Silverbolt shrieked, a slightly distorted noise, as he was constricting his own neck with his heedless movements. Motormaster at once added a fourth finger, stretching the jet wide open, and his spike pulsed, hot and heavy in his hand. Motormaster reached up and ripped off the blindfold, revealing flaring cerulean optics that met his almost instantly. “More. Please.” Silverbolt gasped, and Motormaster couldn't take it anymore. He overloaded all over the jet's interface array, his abdominal plating, hot fluid spattering on the exposed edges of his wings as well. Silverbolt could not move, could not think. He saw that huge spike, still pressurized and ready, and thought, Is that going where I think it's- “Oh fragging PRIMUS!”

Motormaster penetrated Silverbolt with that huge spike, prompting what was another plea to their deity. “I told you, wrong name.” he hissed, having the presence of mind to start slowly, because the jet had not yet overloaded and was still as tight as the virgin he technically wasn't anymore. Motormaster grabbed Silverbolt's chin with one hand, dragging a fingertip through his cooling transfluid with the other and forcing it past those full lips, and Silverbolt opened his mouth in surprise, his glossa darting out to taste the Stunticon as he slowly seated himself. Silverbolt threw his head back again, constricting himself, and licked the essence off, moaning like a slut at the taste, the feeling of being full, the stretching painpleasurepain that threatened to split him wide open. Oh, he'd never known, never guessed, and this was so fragging good....

Motormaster's optics shuttered, and then flew open, locked upon crystal blue as he withdrew, slowly, too slowly, torturing both himself and the Aerialbot commander. He eased back in a little bit harder, a little bit faster, and a low moan of his own escaped his lips. 

“Harder. I can take it.” Silverbolt's gasping tone wasn't entirely due to the bindings, wasn't wholly because of the pressure. Motormaster shrugged. Fool had asked for it. So he did as requested, because slag it, that's what he really wanted anyway. He ground inside deeply, hips twisting and pulling at the ropes, the one between Bolt's legs stimulating Motormaster as well. A quick slide outward, and then he slammed home, setting a rough, hard pace into that crushing tightness that only grew tighter as Silverbolt abruptly shattered into overload, screaming high, long and loud. The jet tensed up, his port clamping down, and still Motormaster thrust through it, the pressure almost too tight for him to move. It hurt Motormaster, a little.

It hurt Silverbolt a lot. It hurt him so badly that he was keening in a second overload due to the pounding and stretching and the fact that this huge mech was over him, in him, through him, hitting places he didn't even know he had until Motormaster had showed him, had taken him, had used him. Mortal enemy did not matter when you were writhing in the best feelings you'd had in your short life. 

“M...m......Moto...! More please more, yes, oh yes just like that, right there, please don't stop, oh please!!” The Aerial was gone, lost in a realm of Motormaster's creation, and when his valve convulsed for the third time Motormaster found that he couldn't hold out, couldn't hold on, and he thrust as hard as he could into Silverbolt, emptying what remained for his transfluid into the jet with a roar of completion. He immediately got up and off the still-twitching Aerialbot, standing still for only a few moments before expertly untying the mech and stowing his special ropes for later use. Later use, probably on Silverbolt. He went to remove the wing chains when Silverbolt touched his arm gently.

“C-can I keep those?”

Motormaster looked at Silverbolt and smiled. It wasn't a reassuring smile, or even one that made one feel warm or comforted. It was the smile of a predator.

“Only if you come back.”

Silverbolt looked very embarrassed; the flush was visible in that handsome face. “I...I will.”


End file.
